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I Don’t Know What To Call This Post..

I spent my last few days at a school related event at Pune. It was a hell of a lot of fun. I hung out with my friends all day eating ice creams and drinking too much coke. It was a trip which truly made me grateful for the friends that I have. Ohhhh… I love them.

 The school where we stayed at Pune was beautiful. It was huge, stretching across acres and acres of lush green land. The architecture reminded me of the Mughal forts and palaces of Agra and Delhi. The girl’s dorm in the night was lit by stars and yellow lamp which gave the effect of the thousands of diyas that lighted the corridors of the Mughal harems. The gardens were green and filled with flowers. I almost believed that Nur Jahan herself and ordered and oversaw their maintenance. Lying outside at night n the grass I could almost imagine the going about of harem life under the Mughal dynasty. I could imagine Princess Jahanara Begum running from the labor room of her mother, Mumtaz Mahal. Her veil torn, the kajal of her eyes smudged because of the tears streaming down her face. Strands of her hair escaping the clutches of the diamond pins that held them. I could imagine her running across to the room where her father, Shah Jahan, the emperor of India was waiting for news about the birth of his latest daughter from his favorite wife.  She would run, soundless sobs escaping from her being, standing before her father mouthing the words that would not take sound. She would watch the great emperor of India lose the one whom he held most dear, with that losing conscience she would wake up to be looked up as the Padsha Begum of Shah Jahan’s harem. A generation ago, the same corridors would have been roamed by Nur Jahan, then Mehr-un-Nissa, on errands for the, then Padsha Begum and her future mother in law.

 I could imagine the vast grounds being used for midnight games of polo and secret meetings to plan the end of a certain emperor’s regime. The sports field would be used for the elephant figs the King would order to entertain the crowed on his heir’s birthday.

The pathways would be trampled under horse hoofs and hurried feet of men tripping over themselves to please the emperor. Those palace gardens would also be the last memories of those petty criminals of to be hanged. And the complex in its entirety being seized by enemy kings and greedy princes.

Luckily, the dorm which we stayed in had an awesome view of the sunrise. I would wake up at five thirty in the morning to lean out of one of the beautifully carved marble balconies and pretend myself a Mughal princess. Oh it was so beautiful…

But honestly however beautiful the outside was the inside was, with the same passion, ugly. 

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